Myself
by Poppy2
Summary: from story: "I never asked to be in the guilt of his shadow, yet here I am struggling to be free of this somber eclipse and see the destiny of my own day." The usual Gohan feels shame about his father's death story with a twist at the end.
1. Stare

Disclaimer: As much as I think it would be absolutely awesome and incredible and indescribable and all that other stuff, I don't own DBZ or any of its original characters. Soooo.....yeah.  
  
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A/N: Please review. It would mean so much to me to know what everyone thought of my work, good or bad.  
  
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They are all staring at me. They think I'm oblivious to their peering eyes, but I know that as long as my own eyes aren't following them that their gaze will once again be set upon me. It's uncomfortable and cryptic to be set under their watch and I fidget wishing to be rid of it. What are they looking at? Those faces, those glances, I can't take it any more. I don't want to be gawked at like this, like an ethereal being.  
  
My legs quickly carry me from the main ruckus of the house to the quiet peace of the living room in long sure strides. I've grown much taller in the past twenty-one months and the hallways of Capsule Corp that once appeared to be long highways to me have become small friendly streets. Finding a suitable place to sit down I allow my feet and body to rest for the moment as my head reclines back into the soft cushioning of the couch.  
  
I miss my dad.  
  
Although I no longer have the privilege of being able to go to him whenever I need to talk or laugh with him about stuff, I can still occasionally feel his spirit residing with me. It hurts, but I understand why he refuses to come back. I can only hope that someday we'll meet again and I'll have the chance to properly apologize for what I've done. I need his forgiveness and it lingers over me everyday that it's my fault he won't return. It's my fault all his friends grieve. It's my fault that he won't be here for my next birthday. It's my fault that my mother weeps every night just before she goes to sleep asking why he left her, and no body answers. It's my fault that dad will never get to see my new baby brother, never get to see him grow up, never even know he exists. It's all my fault, and I will compliantly take the blame.  
  
A small rustling of feet behind me inquires my attention and I turn to meet my mentor standing in the wide doorway looking inquisitively at me. I drop my eyes as he silently stares at me. Our figures stay poised in the same manner for about a minute until he finally speaks up.  
  
"Everyone is looking for you," his deep voice says breaking the now uncomfortable silence. Even talking with Piccolo seems to be eerily constrained and hard. It's almost as if we're strangers just getting to know each other. Unconsciously, I nod my head and get up from my seat to follow him back to party.  
  
After only a few moments, we're there once again and my voice catches in throat as their eyes return to me once more. In the corner of the room, I can see Krillin holding my brother Goten probably to give my mother a rest. Juuhachigou stood beside by him watching the small antics Krillin made to make Goten laugh with mild amusement. She has begun to stay with Krillin and Master Roshi and although she would never admit it, I think she has become somewhat attached to my dad's old friend.  
  
"Gohan!"  
  
I turn to see my mother stalk up to me and angrily put her hands on her hips. "Yes, Mom?"  
  
"Where have you been? I've looked all over for you!! I need you to help me get your brother ready to go, it's getting late and it's not good for him to be out this late. And Gohan..."  
  
My thoughts drift from her incessant scolding back to Krillin and my brother. Ever since dad died, Krillin has been the closest thing to a father I've had. I still hold Piccolo in high respect, but it just seems easier for me to talk to Krillin about things having to do with both my father...and...other stuff that I'm not sure Piccolo would understand. I wonder if Krillin will have to give Goten the same kind of talks he gave me about life. Out of no where, a two year old Trunks has walked over and climbed onto Krillin lap right beside Goten. The two young children stare at each other for a moment before Goten roughly hits Trunks on the top of his lavender head. Shocked for only a brief moment, Trunks pushes him back. Then, they just giggle absently and Trunks climbs down from Krillin's lap to go find his mother. I can already tell that they are going to be best friends when they are older. Sometimes I even...  
  
"Gohan! Are you listening to me?!" Mom yells at me and I slightly cringe under her searing gaze.  
  
"I'm sorry Mom, I guess I...uh.... heh heh," I try to explain while nervously rubbing the back of my head. I stop when I see that her expression has softened and I once again feel uncomfortable.  
  
She sighs and reaches a hand up to the top of my head and half-heartedly muses with my hair. I'm now taller than her by a few inches and she looks up at me, studying me saying nothing. Done with her ministrations to my oddly pointed hair, her small, soft hand traces down the side of my face and rests on my jaw as her thumb sweetly rubs my cheek. I know exactly what she's thinking right now.  
  
I look just like my father.  
  
"Mom," my voice is hushed and strained. "I'll go get our stuff, you just go put Goten in the car and I'll be there in a few moments." I pull away from her before she can say anything, I don't want to hear it.  
  
Striding to the kitchen, I pick up the bag that mom brings everywhere with Goten's bottles and extra diapers. My breath is hard as I try to retain my composure, but I'm slowly loosing my internal war. I can't help it when she looks at me like that. I never asked to be in the guilt of his shadow, yet here I am struggling to be free of this somber eclipse and see the destiny of my own day, but will that ever happen?  
  
Just as I'm beginning to leave the kitchen, another person enters and makes a straight beeline for the fridge. I stop to watch him. His back is turned to me as he scours through the refrigerator's contents. A few impatient curse words are exchanged between him and the glowing machine before he gives it a small kick and closes the door. I can't see his face, but I can guess that there is a scowl playing sadistically across his features. Then, the Saiyan prince turns to me.  
  
Without saying anything, he just stares at me with his unwavering eyes. Trying to be friendlier than he is, I allow a small grin to envelope my face. "How've you been, Vegeta?" my voice feels raspy as I work to keep a chipper edge to my tone. Still he says nothing, just watches me. Apprehensively, I begin to rub the back of my head; it's become a habit I've developed more and more since I was younger. "It sure was nice of Bulma to throw a birthday party for Goten, me and my mom really appreciate it." He stares, his face has lost its scowl, but no emotion has really replaced it.  
  
We're both silent as I begin to step backwards away from him wishing to be relieved of yet another pair of scrutinizing eyes. I can't even imagine what he must be thinking. Involuntarily, I chuckle as I take a few more steps towards the doorway; I want to leave. "Well, I guess I'll see you later," I say. Turning quickly, I start to leave the kitchen, but his deep voice stops me as I hear him almost whisper:  
  
"You're just like your father."  
  
I stand there for a moment, my life caught in my chest and unable to even think. Awkwardly, my feet begin to stagger in front me in my haste to leave and I falter against the counter hitting my stomach against its stiff edge and knocking any remaining air from my lungs. Taking a step back, dismay and anger mounting, my head turns back to where his majesty had stood before he took his silent leave with out even forgetting an emblem or sign of his appearance as though he had whisped away in a seraph's breath. A cold hand places itself on my shoulder and I twist to avoid its touch.  
  
"Gohan?" calls my mother's voice in a slightly annoyed tone. "Where have you been? I told you we needed to leave soon. Where's the bag?"  
  
Grudgingly, I lift my arm revealing the baby-bag in my hand. My thoughts become clouded once again as the incessant yells she utters become just a slur of noise. I can't even hear, don't want to hear her anymore, so I push myself past her and back into the party giving her a scowl full of all the malice I can presently hold for her and everyone else, everyone who has decided to once again bestow their gazes upon me as I enter the room. The scowl remains on my face and I glare as I pass these people I've know all or most of my life. People I have fought to protect in earlier years. People my father died to save. People who quietly blame me for it, but are too scared to actually tell me, or so I believe. Whether or not it's true, I don't really care. I just want to leave.  
  
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(A/N)~ This is probably a really weird, stupid first chapter that has practically no real meaning to anyone, but in the next/last chapter it leads to something and might make more sense. I also know that this isn't my best writing, but I suck major @$$ at writing in first person so I have an excuse.  
  
Shameless Plug~ Please visit my web site at http://www.geocities.com/poppyrulz/BYCD.html. I have more of my work there and…. Yeah. I also post other people's fics so if you want to, please donate something (smiles innocently). And I'm done. 


	2. Snip, Snip

A/N~ Wow, it took me a long time to finally finish writing this story. Oh well, it's done and that's all that matters I guess.  
  
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Disclaimer: I do not own the entirety of DBZ, but I do own Gohan. I hide him under my bed and use him as my personal slave. Ain't it great?  
  
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Chapter 2: Snip, Snip  
  
  
  
Some people believe that their skin is another analogy to represent who they are. If that is true, then why is it that soaps and other chemicals can so distinctly alter one's complexion? I don't know much about current culture, but what I do know is that just about everyone can enjoy a bath. There's just something about the feeling of warm water that makes me feel cleansed in both body and soul… that is until your skin starts to get really wrinkly and stuff because that's just gross, then it's time to get out and face the world again.  
  
So there you are still wet from the bath standing in only a towel in front of the mirror examining yourself for something you don't quite understand why you're looking for, but you look for it anyway. I suppose most guys would flex their muscles and see how beefy they look while in the buff, or anyway that's what I've caught both Krillen and Yamcha doing in the past just before a swim party, but I find it silly and could really care less about how my muscles look on me. So I stand here just looking and talking to the mirror, crazy as it sounds.  
  
The only reason it sounds silly is because mirrors can't talk back, which is why you don't talk to them with phrases, words, and chuckles. The only language they are partial to is eye contact, which can never be broken as long as you look at them. A mirror can be your best friend, offering comfort in small smiles or sympathy in understanding faces. You can converse deep secrets with them, or even find out something new about yourself. For instance:  
  
I look just like my father.  
  
The wild hair, the jovial smile, and the muscular build have all been my father's progressive traits that I inherited. I never would have expressed a notion of these characteristics if my dear friend hadn't brought them to my attention.  
  
It makes me stare at myself with the same scrutinizing eyes that followed me around Capsule Corp and deranged me with the guilt of days long past. No matter what I do, what face I make, what stance I take, I will always resemble the emblem of my guilt because his trademark is now my own.  
  
His hair, which sprung in pointed strands towards the heavens above, now sits atop my own head in its infamous style so that every time I see my reflection I will be reminded of my fault and see my father looking straight back at me. It's not fair; I can't endure another moment of it unless that person looking back at me really is my life's greatest influence.  
  
I don't want to look like my father.  
  
I grab one of my thick strands that rest proudly atop my head and without further thought bring my free hand towards it, a slight ki ball forming at the end of my index finger. I allow the energy to cleanly slice through the hair and wait as the fragments slowly waft to the floor before I look at myself once again in the mirror.  
  
I still look just like my father.  
  
Driven with determination, I take hold of another proud lock and slice it through as well to repeat the process. My eyes clamp shut as angry tears well at their corners. When I open them I don't want to see him looking back at me; I need to see myself, Son Gohan. My hands continue their frenzy about my head and it seems that the feeling of wet hair patting against my bare skin will never cease. The heat from the ki in my hand is beginning to dry my hair and make the process harder for my fretting hands, but I don't care. It hurts to see him everywhere I go. I see him in windows, in puddles, in silver ware and china. I even see him in the glint of my mother's eyes when I think she's speaking to me in that soft voice she rarely uses. I see him where ever I go and whenever I expect to see myself.  
  
Because I look just like my father.  
  
By now my eyes feel bleary and swollen shut. My sensitive senses are picking up the stale, bitter smell of blood as a thick, fluid sensation rolls softly down my forehead and across my brow. More than likely I had been a bit too careless with my exposed energy at some point. No matter though. What's done is done.  
  
My head tilts up slightly and my eyes ease their way slowly open expecting to see the ghost of what I have become, but to my utter surprise I found myself.  
  
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A/N~ Ok, yeah, the twist sucked, but it took me so long to write it that I forgot what I was really doing and writing about and I ended up just winging it. Ummmmm.... REVIEW!!! please? 


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